HIM

2005-12-04T15:03:00.000-05:00

PERSONAL HISTORY

2005-12-04T14:47:00.000-05:00

I saw Fox today for the first time in a long time. I always knew he’d come back someday, somehow it was inevitable. The first time I met him was about four months after his wife died. He was a somber, quiet, withdrawn person. I was working in the State Department then and was part of a diplomatic envoy to China regarding the downed EP-3 Navy Spy plane. You’ve probably never heard of our envoy because it was kept secret. Good thing too because no sooner than I started unpacking then a squad of Chinese commandos burst in with guns. The he appeared, crashing through my window, guns in both hands. He made short work the commandos, pulled me out of the room and took me to a waiting SUV. Apparently all the other members of my envoy had been killed in an elevator explosion. Thank God Fox realized I was in danger. We hid out in the Chinese wilderness for about a month, finally sneaking over the border into Tajikistan. During that time, Fox kept to himself. He didn’t talk much. I think he thought I was beneath his notice. He always kept his gun with him; I think he even slept with it under his pillow. He told the villagers in the area that I was his sister, and goodness knows he treated me like one.

Back in the states I didn’t see him again until after 9/11. In a restructuring of Homeland Security, I was transferred from the State Department to the CIA’s new terrorist profiling office. I soon found out that this was a cover for the super secret division called the Counter Terrorism Unit. I was put in charge of the correspondence office, coordinating the movements of all the agents around the world. It was during this time that I found the file of Agent Red Fox, and learned of his wife’s death and the aborted attempt to find her killer. Fox had high marks on his service record, including a number of commendations from the Deputy Director.

As I was looking at his file, he walked into my office. “Gina?” I jumped! Apparently he hadn’t forgotten me. He said he wanted to check up on me and welcome me to the agency.

We spent that Christmas together. No, I didn’t bring him to see mom. But we had Christmas dinner out, went to a movie, had hot chocolate and ate marshmallows. I know I must sound ridiculous, but it was wonderful.

Still, there was something wrong. He had an underlying darkness about him. I soon realized that he wasn’t just sad about his wife’s death; he was, but there was more to it. It was almost like he was a slave to something; burdened with a quest that had never been fulfilled; on a crusade that he had failed to complete.

Then he hit me with it. We had been seeing each other for almost five months, and I thought I was in love with him.
I was in love with him. But he said that he couldn’t handle the attachment. That he had never really gotten over his wife’s death. I wanted to help him, to help him forget. I wanted to be there for him, to throw my arms around him and tell him that it would all be ok. But he was convinced that it would never work. Rather than fight him, rather than hurt him any more, I said ok.

Later that month, I transferred to our London office. I never saw him again.

Until now.

I wish I could just forget him, and yet, inside, I am so glad to see him. I thought I’d gotten over him—and I have, I have! I won’t fall in love with him again, he’ll just reject me. I don’t want to think about him, I just need to get on with my job. When Malcolm offered me the job as his assistant, I took it because I knew Fox had retired. Now what do I do? Well, I mean, after all, he wasn’t exactly kind to me. He had more important things than me going on last time . . . now it’s my turn. I’m doing important things at work.

But, then, things went crazy. There was shooting, screaming, I was pushed into the car…. We were going to a safe house to meet with a contact about some sort of Russian deal. The President was shot at, the contact was found dead at the safe house, it was a disaster. Apparently the President convinced Fox to become director of the new CTA, which was why he was here to begin with. Which means I’ll be working with him; working closely with him. I don’t know what that means. I am not stepping out for him under any circumstances, no matter what. But still, being around him, is tough.

Still, he was amazing; Fox saw the laser sight on the president’s shirt and knocked him back into the car just in time. I pulled out my gun, but Fox knocked me out of the way, took my gun and took control. Frankly, I found that kind of annoying. I am a trained agent, after all, but he had to be the manly agent and get the glory. Well, I don’t suppose he thought of it that way. And saving people has always been more of Fox’s forte than mine. Though, as I recall from our files, I had a better accuracy rating in training than he did, but don’t tell him that.

Anyway, I called in air support since there was nothing else I could do because my gun was AWOL with Mr. Fox. By the time they arrived, it was over. Fox didn’t get the man, rather embarrassingly I’d say. One of our new agents made a very large mess of things and banged a door behind Fox just as he cornered the guy, which gave the sniper a split second to get away. I think I would have just shot him in the leg first and asked questions later, but Fox loves to get them to monologue. He used to say that if you got them talking before injuring them you got more information. I don’t know about that, but I guess he got lots of info out of me.

What do I do? Act friendly? Avoid Fox? I don’t know. I mean, as horrible as he was to me, he’s been through a lot. Maybe I should go do some target shooting, clear my head. Woops, I don’t believe Fox gave me my gun back at the end of the day. I’d better make sure to put another one in my purse.

THE VIEW FROM HIGH-UP

2005-10-23T09:36:00.000-04:00

Work was amazing today. I am the assistant to the liaison from CTA to the president. The I never thought I’d get this “high-up.” Now that I’m here, I wonder at all the hype, but at the same time, I don’t wonder at it. It’s an incredible job with incredible people. But some of them simply don’t have a sense of humor. Like the president—he’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong. He is very intelligent, capable, even kind, but he simply doesn’t get some of the ironies that are around him. He does try to make puns, but perhaps he can’t help that. Maybe he concentrates better on all the action going on around him without realizing some of the potentially humorous things around him. And he has to concentrate, poor guy, he has a ton going on now. All this terrorism getting blamed on him, as if he wouldn’t stop it if he could. What are the American people thinking?

GINA

HIM

PERSONAL HISTORY

THE VIEW FROM HIGH-UP